Mobile Suits Gundam SIN
by Dendrobium Stamen
Summary: Not SEED, but an original AU - closer to SEED than UC, G Gundam, or Wing. A story about going to war because war is all people know...
1. Phase 01

**Phase-01: Half a League, Half a League, Half a League Onward**

**First Conference Room, Parliament Building of The Lunar Union, Arno City, Medici Federation, Luna.**

**June 10, Space Colonisation Era Year 144. 0900 Lunar Standard Time.**

At a large, oak table, several men sat, dossiers in front of them. On one side were politicians, dressed in expensive black suits from the finest tailors on the Moon. On the other side were military men and women, admirals of the Lunar Union Force, all in their smartest black uniforms. At the head of the table was another of the politicians, Cosimo Vecchio, the Prime Minister of the Medici Federation and current Supreme Chairperson of the whole Lunar Union, the body representing the interests of all the provinces of the Moon.

"Ministers, Admirals," he began, "You are all aware of why this meeting has been called. Two days ago, all contact was lost with Churchill Prefecture, the largest of the colony clusters at Lagrange Point Four. At the present, we have no idea just why communications have been lost. The last report from the local administration was ordinary, even banal, to say the least. A transcript is in the dossier, of course. The question, one I hope to have answered soon, is just why we have lost contact."

There was a general murmuring around the room, as those assembled digested the information. Some browsed through the dossier provided; the transcript mentioned was indeed there, as well as facts and figures about Churchill Prefecture, amongst other things.

One of the Union Force admirals, a well-built man, chimed in with his thoughts: "I'd be willing to put this down to the rising levels of colonial terrorism. Damned ungrateful colonials killed half a dozen soldiers last week at the Aswan Colony with a suicide bomb. For all we know, this could just be another example of their ungrateful and childish behaviour!"

More murmuring, louder this time. All those present were Lunarian, so there was no dissent, simply doubt.

"Admiral Zerck, terrorism is of great concern to us at this time, of course, but this would be a far different and far more significant act than any we've previously seen. Of course, the safety of our troops is a major priority, but no act of terrorism in any colony has been sufficient to prevent communication between a colony group and the government."

"There's always the possibility that these terrorists are increasing the scope and size of their activities, being buoyed by other acts of terror at other colonies." chimed in one politician, the representative from the Lido Alliance.

"Exactly!" replied Zerck. "If this is the case, it's quite possible we may be facing a militia, an enemy using stolen Union Force hardware!"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Admiral. It is quite possible that colonial rebels have done this, but then it's also possible to be transmitter failure. Deploying a fleet to replace a faulty transmitter would look rather extreme, would it not?" it was clear that Vecchio agreed with what Zerck suggested; it would just take one more push to convince the other politicians.

The push came from another of the military men, an Admiral named Bannerman: "Can we afford to take that risk, though? In all honesty, we need to take action, if a problem exists. If there's no problem, we could pass it off as an admiral sent to take a formal review of the Churchill Prefecture forces."

"Now that sounds like a fair plan. Either way, the Union Force can do what is appropriate without losing face. Are there any objections?"

Nobody had any objection to the plans.

"Very well, then. Admirals, I leave it in your hands. We shall soon get to the bottom of this… curiosity, I believe. If there is no further business, this meeting is adjourned."

And so it began.

**Fort Croydon, Blenheim Colony, Churchill Prefecture, Lagrange Point Four.**

**June 11, SCE 144. 1330 LST.**

All across the military base, preparations were being made. Since the termination of contact with the Union on the eighth, everyone had been on a war footing, awaiting the imminent arrival of a Union Force fleet. It was the Medici Federation's way of doing things; if it threatens, kill it; if it's unknown, kill it and examine what's left.

And it was because they so opposed this that the Space Colonies Allied Territories existed.

The ideal was nothing new; movements to oppose the Union had been tried before over the past half-century. Sadly, all previous attempts had been loosely organised coalitions formed from numerous anti-Union terrorist groups. Things had changed after the Joshua Tragedy, however, and now the leading figures in politics and in industry had galvanised the population of the Churchill Prefecture colonies.

Blenheim Colony, from the outside, would seem nothing special. Like most of the other colonies created in the past century, it was composed of two cones, each almost thirty kilometres from base to point, points joined by a central zero-gravity spaceport area, two huge round solar panels branching from this section. The circular base of each cone, ten kilometres in diameter, supported a lush environment with considerable amounts of water and vegetation; a manmade paradise, for sure.

On the inside, Blenheim was quite something. Its "south" cone had been converted into a military base, dominated by the Marine Corps of the SCAT Strategic Military Self Defence Force, and contained huge numbers of hangars, factories, barracks, and peripheral facilities for the Marines.

Two members of the Marine Corps were standing outside a hangar, talking; the conversation was becoming quite animated, as they discussed the current state of affairs.

"So you really think that those cavemen on the Moon will attack us?" asked one, a tall, blonde man in a red uniform.

"It's quite possible… they've not heard from us in three days, and you know what happens when the Union Force is uncertain…" replied the other participant, a slightly shorter, brown haired man with piercing blue eyes, dressed in a purple uniform.

"Hardly matters, Julius. They have a big fleet, that's true. A habit of shooting anything that moves as well. But we have the Dauntless. And that's where our power comes from." exclaimed the red uniformed one with a typical pattern of pauses between and even during thoughts.

"Cyril, you're too optimistic… the Dauntless is a good machine, but it's not the be-all and end-all of warfare."

"Well, one of us has to be optimistic. And, as the lower ranking one, I think that should be me. I'll leave the realism to you, Commander."

Saluting, Cyril turned on his heel and made his exit, jumping into a parked jeep nearby and set off for a destination Julius could only guess at. Letting out a brief sigh, he strode into the hangar that the two had been lingering outside, to inspect its contents. Orange-suited mechanics scurried around between berths, checking and rechecking every last piece of equipment.

A display on the wall marked the hangar as being designated for the Van Steenvoort Team. _His_ team. Looking at the contents of the four berths on either wall, he felt extremely aware of what his team was: mobile suits, eight of them, all of the Dauntless type, SCAT's ace-in-the-hole. Seven were the "basic" model Dauntless Spartan, painted in the standard dark gray colours of the SCAT Marines, each bearing a white rose on the left shoulder and a number between 02 and 08 on the right. One, the closest on the left, bore a stylised red "CC" next to its unit number 02; Cyril Cheshire, nicknamed "Cheshire Cat" for his gigantic smile and the almost perverse delight he took in combat simulations.

The final machine, the closest to him on the right, was a Dauntless Leader, superior to the Spartan; it too was gray, but both its shoulders were purple, the number "01" marked on its right shoulder's rectangular armour, the rounded corners of the armour finished in white. A crown adorned the White Rose on its left shoulder; this was his machine.

The eight were soon to be transferred from this hangar to a warship which would serve as their mothership. The transfer had been delayed due to an error in the SMSDF central database, which had somehow lost the orders between the Marine side and the Armada side; Julius put this down to the ineptitude of mostly ship-driving bureaucrats, as always. The SCAT Armada was the navy of this military, controlling its warships and ports. The Armada also served as the means by which the Marines would get their mobile suits to battle, but they were no mere transport fleet; the Armada's warships were at least on a par with Union Force ships of equivelant size, though the colonial force had no match for the Union's huge flagship carrier _Indomitable_.

Few people at Fort Croydon doubted that there'd be a war; the Union's attitude towards the colonies had been diminishing for decades as the Moon became more and more dependent on their manufacturing capabilities, and the Colonials seemed to become more like "hired help" to the Lunarians. The colonies had power over the cavemen who hid from Space inside the gray rock; if only they'd used it properly, sooner…

"Julius, you daydreaming again? I pity your squad if you do that in combat, man!" yelled a burly pilot as he passed in a jeep with his buddies.

Turning, a smiling Julius shot off his reply: "Why not write that into your next song, Andy Wallace? I bet the ladies will _love_ that lyric!"

The smile quickly disappeared from the burly pilot's face. Scowling, he faced straight ahead, trying to ignore the barrage of jeers from the others in the jeep. Andy Wallace Richmond had been named after a popular lounge singer from a few years before he was born, famed for his silky voice, pretty-boy good looks, and swooning lyrics. Sadly for A.W. Richmond, the name didn't imbue him with such luck in life; he had a brash voice, was built like an ox, and tended to struggle with long words.

Alex smiled to himself for a few moments, until one of the mechanics dashed upto him, a gawky young redheaded man, barely out of puberty but a superb engineer nonetheless. "Commander! Commander Van Steenvoort! Your mobile suits are ready for transfer to ship sir!"

"Thank you…" The purple-uniformed man subtly glanced at the nametag on the mechanic's orange jumpsuit, "...Thompson. I'll call my team. Is that all?"

"Yes sir! May I say it's been a pleasure to serve your squadron and that I hope to serve with you again sir!" The young officer was good at his job, but spoke far too quickly, as if he'd forget what he was saying if he didn't get it out of his mouth as soon as he thought it.

"Your service was greatly appreciated. You and your comrades served excellently. The thanks is all mine." Julius snapped off a smart salute which the young mechanic quickly returned, before dashing back to the other orange-clad men. The mobile suit pilot smiled; he barely remembered being that young, let alone that earnest.

Reaching for an inside pocket, he reached for his phone. Furiously hammering away at the keys, Julius entered a text message:

**All squadron: Report hangar immediately.**

**Mobile suits to transfer to battleship today.**

**Last one here does the paperwork!**

**- JVS.**

A few keys later, the message had been sent on the group-send code to all seven other members of the Van Steenvoort Squadron. Within moments, seven "message delivered" confirmations came up on his phone. He hoped they wouldn't reply; the default message tone annoyed him, and figuring out how to change it was far too much effort.

Sure enough, the damned thing made that _beep-beep_,_ beep-beep_ noise seven times within a minute. All the messages were largely the same:

**OK Cmdr will do!**

**Just have to let the curry burn I guess P**

**I liked that kitchen too… oh well!**

**- BR**

…and…

**2 minutes sir! **

**- AP**

…not to mention…

**OMG WTF NOW! LOL P**

**I'll be there Julius.**

**- CC**

The other four were relatively "ordinary", by the standards of his squad. All of them were somewhat bizarre, in their own ways. Sometimes, it seemed the craziest members of the Marines had been lumped together in one unit, led by a man who considered himself reasonably sane. He doubted anyone else considered him overly sane, though.

However, these pilots weren't mere nutcases in uniforms; for all their rather "unique" personality traits, they comprised some of the best in the Marines, pilots who could – if pressed – hit a human-sized target sixty kilometres away at the other end of a colony, in motion, without the aid of the Dauntless' superb targeting computer.

Well, maybe not. But they were almost that good.

With the rest of the squad on the way, Julius found himself with nothing to do but wait and brood. And so, on impulse, he ambled straight towards the hangar. The best place to brood, he found, was the cockpit of a twenty metre tall robot. That way, if he felt the need to vent, he'd have a gigantic metal body and its superb arsenal to do so with.

**Main Bridge, SCAT Armada Battleship _Ibuki_, Blenheim Colony Main Spaceport, Churchill Prefecture, Lagrange Point 4.**

**June 11, SCE 144. 1410 Hours LST.**

Jame Demry was annoyed.

The rest of the _Ibuki_'s crew would readily agree that this was something of a regular occurrence. However, the captain's annoyances were frequently mere "storm in a teacup" affairs, and could be defused simply by agreeing with him, or just staying off the bridge. This afternoon's first annoyance was the fact that his ship, which was supposed to have a full load of eight mobile suits, currently had no mobile suits.

On the other hand, Demry thought, no mobile suits meant no Marines. And that wouldn't be so bad, really.

Sighing, Captain Demry – captain in position only, for the Armada had no rank structure, like the Marines – stood from the captain's chair, cold gray eyes looking across the expansive bridge. A combination of transparent aluminium panels and computer monitors provided him an impressive view of the port area ahead and to the sides. Noticing a wrinkle in his black "commander" uniform, Demry sighed again, fixing the imperfection. A slight, polite cough by his left shoulder alerted him to the fact that his weapons officer, a petite red-haired woman named Olivia Fisher, wanted his attention.

"Yes, Olivia?" he enquired. Despite his demeanour, the _Ibuki_'s captain had a soft voice. "Oh, is this the inventory?"

"It is, captain," replied Fisher, perkily, "We now have a full stock of missiles, of all three models; 'Starburst mark four' assault missiles, 'Skyflash mark three' pursuit missiles, and 'Shotlancer' interceptor missiles are all loaded in both magazines for use by all six launchers. All four dual cannons are fully prepared, as are both single cannons. The sixteen dual close-in lasers will be ready within the hour, sir."

"Captain Demry!" interrupted the communications officer, Amy Morrison. "We have confirmation that our mobile suits, those of the Van Steenvoort Squadron, will be aboard within the hour."

Demry sighed again. "Thank you, Amy. Inform the hangar deck."

"Yessir."

_Ibuki_ would be ready for battle soon enough. All they needed now was for the Union Force to hurry up and arrive so they could show what the Space Colonies Allied Territories Armada could do.

**Bridge, Lunar Union Navy Battleship _Intrepid_; Halfway Between Luna and Lagrange Point Four.**

**June 12, SCE 144. 1010 LST.**

On the bridge of the 102nd "Hallam" Fleet's flagship, Garth Lauser stood, impatiently staring out at space, gazing disdainfully at the ominous hourglasses in the distance. For dozens of kilometres to either side and behind the _Intrepid_ the fleet cruised toward their destination, the Churchill Prefecture of space colonies. Fifteen ships comprised this fleet, primarily from the Medici Federation, of four different classes; the _Lancer A2_ and _Striker C4_ battleships, the _Jorvik B1_ escort cruisers, and the _Tudor F1_ light cruisers. The presence of the light cruisers disgusted Lauser; the last modification of an obsolete class, they were being steadily replaced by the _Jorvik_, but not quickly enough. The _Tudor_ was incapable of mounting cosmofighters, and its nuclear reactor was too weak to support plasma cannons. All in all, it seemed a waste of space.

Still, it wasn't his problem. Lieutenant Commander Lauser was a cosmofighter pilot, a Typhoon pilot at that, and commander of the elite 600th "Elephantine" Team, the best of the best of the best in the Lunar Union Cosmofighter Force. Better than anyone else from the Medici Federation, whose cosmofighter pilots were the best in the Union. He would be leading the small fighter craft into battle. It annoyed him, though. He disliked stupid people, and considered most other cosmofighter teams to be comprised of stupid people; useful, often capable, but stupid. It annoyed him further that he'd be commanding teams using three models of cosmofighter: the brand-new Typhoons currently exclusive to top Medici teams, their Albizzi Alliance doppelgangers the Mustang, and the slightly older Medici model Hurricanes. Three distinct models of cosmofighter weren't really necessary; they all did the same things, at a roughly equal level. The reason for the three was to keep the defence industry corporations backing various Union politicians happy.

"Bloody politics." He muttered under his breath.

"Did you say something, Mister Lauser?" the ship's captain, a portly man with few skills but numerous connections, enquired.

"I was just musing on how dull this mission will likely be, sir."

The portly Captain seemed ready to reply, but was cut off by another man, of similar age but a bodybuilder's figure. Admiral Brice Milberger was an imposing figure to say the least, especially when crammed into the black uniform of the Union Force admiralty.

"Commander Lauser," he intoned in a gravely voice, "I believe we may be surprised by what we find amongst those colonies. To be as prepared as possible, I chose your fighter unit to provide the spearhead of our force."

Lauser, who had snapped to attention as the admiral floated onto the bridge, didn't hesitate in his reply. "Yes sir! Apologies for my doubts, sir!"

"Don't worry yourself, Commander. Now, go and make sure your pilots are prepared." Responded the Admiral, nodding his bald head slightly.

Lauser nodded in response and pushed off the deck, leaving the expansive bridge through the central rear doors. As the elevator descended to the deck the battleship's hangar was on, he cursed his misfortune at being assigned to a ship run by an idiot in a fleet commanded by a brute stuffed into a uniform. This building irritation gave Lauser the inspiration he needed for what he'd do to prepare his pilots:

"Simulation training. Extreme difficulty. Outnumbered three-to-one."

**Hangar Deck, SCAT Armada Battleship_ Ibuki_; Rendezvous Point Alpha, Colony Side of Resource Asteroid L4-A03.**

**June 12, SCE 144. 1845 Hours.**

The hangar deck of the _Ibuki_ was silent.

At least, that's what Julius believed, with the external audio switched off in his pilot suit's helmet. Pressing a button on the back of his right glove, the audio came back on.

The hangar deck of the _Ibuki_ was incredibly loud.

Even with the automatic volume control in his helmet, the noise was almost headache inducing. It was like being at a Blast Impulse rock concert, only without the superb guitars, drums, or superb Robert Plant-esque vocals. Mechanics scurried back and forth in their orange normal suits – the term for "ordinary" space suits – preparing the eight mobile suits in the hangar for combat. Pilots spoke with varying degrees of enthusiasm and politeness with the mechanics, demanding their machines be at the highest performance level possible for the upcoming battle. Julius wasn't overly concerned, he knew the _Ibuki_'s chief mechanic, and was sure his Dauntless was in good hands.

To save time, the Van Steenvoort squadron was having its mission equipment attached as early as possible, rather than equip the various bits and pieces on the catapult as would be done normally. Three of the Spartans, under his command, would go out with the Type-A configuration; this would put his team in the "standard" Dauntless Spartan configuration.

Dauntless Spartans were superb machines, even if untested in combat. Just under nineteen metres tall, the torso was broad, the limbs suitably sized for the size and power of the main body, with large hands and feet. Two shields, almost as wide and tall as the torso, were mounted on a pivot on each shoulder. On the upper edge of the shield there was a hardpoint to mount optional weapons; further hardpoints were on the forearms and the shins. The machine's only permanent thrusters were the pair on the rear of each shin of its long, broad legs; swappable backpack units allowed for different thruster packs for the different mission configurations. Finally, the head was roughly round but also tall, a single red sensor camera mounted on a track in the centre of the head, with a pair of long sweeping fins pointing back from either side; these contained decoy launchers and had small blue secondary cameras mounted on the front.

The weapons of the Dauntless Spartan were as impressive as the machine itself. Its standard armaments included a pair of 35mm Close-In Weapon System guns mounted on its armoured collar to either side of the head, a "camera blinder" gun mounted below the sensor track, a quartet of hyper-vibration knives, and a pair of hyper-vibration tomahawks. The emphasis on melee weapons on a unit designed for ranged combat wasn't unusual; the Marines' tactics emphasised close-range battle where their opponents wouldn't be able to use their long-range armaments.

The three Spartans in Van Steenvoort's team, units 03, 04 and 05, were to be equipped with the three-thruster backpack of the Type-A; whilst less powerful than the five-thruster unit of the Type-B, it contained more apogee motors for manoeuvring, and consumed far less propellant; a Type-A could remain in combat for just over three hours, whilst a Type-B had a mere fifty minutes of combat life in it.

Depending on pilot preference the arms would be equipped either with 35mm guns or a triple-barrel grenade launcher, or one of each; the hips would carry either a pair of grenade racks or a single grenade rack and a hyper-vibration sword; the shields could be fitted with a pair of fifteen-barrel micromissile launchers; finally, its handheld armaments would be a combination of 75mm assault rifle with attached 200mm grenade launcher, dual 140mm pistols, and an optional 230mm bazooka. The Type-A could also carry an 80mm ultrahigh-velocity sniper rifle, designed to be used with the Type-S head unit; unfortunately, _Ibuki_ carried no Type-S heads, only the standard Type-G, and more to the point carried no sniper rifles either.

The quartet of Type-B units would carry a vastly different armament; a pair of triple-barrel shin missile launchers and six twin-barrel heavy missile launchers – two on the forearms, two on the hips, and one on each shield, complimented by a 100mm machinegun and massive 560mm bazooka. Less weapons overall, but considerably more heavy firepower. These four units were intended to be the "big gun" force, to strike at and destroy enemy warships, rather than their cosmofighters. In simulations, Cyril had perfected a tactic of using a tomahawk to cut through a ship's bridge before unloading a bazooka round into its engines; despite his superb simulator scores and "ace" status, the Marine Corps' development teams still refused to manufacture the "anti-ship scythe" he longed for.

His friend's lack of concern over ending lives sometimes concerned Julius. Granted, they were fighting for their independence and the like, but he was still hesitant about killing people. One reason for his own high simulator results, and assignment as a squad commander, was his precise aiming, shooting to disable rather than to destroy.

"_Julius! We've got your machine armed and ready. Could you climb in and make sure everything's calibrated properly?"_

Snapping him back to reality – via means of the skin-to-skin transmission system in all "normal" and "pilot" suits – was none other than _Ibuki_'s chief mechanic, Donna Angel. A relatively tall brunette with looks men yearned for and some women envied, she seemed out of place amongst the other mechanics. Still, those hazel eyes of hers could see virtually any fault in a machine, and her mind could come up with any number of solutions. Mind of a natural engineer, body of a natural model, several in the Armada said; unfortunately for them, Donna was on record as saying that she _hated_ ship drivers.

"It is… oh, excellent! Thanks, Donna, I'm glad you're the one keeping my team's mobile suits in fighting form." He smiled back, genuinely glad that he'd be serving with another of his long-time friends.

"Don't flatter me too much," she giggled, "I may hate ship drivers, but I _loath_ Marine flyboys. You can thank me by taking your people and mine out for a drink or several at My Name's Jim on Blenheim when this is over."

"Donna, you have a deal!"

With a helping hand from the woman in orange, Julius pushed off the deck towards his mobile suit, the lone SMAF-CMS03DL Dauntless Leader aboard the ship. Though largely the same as the Spartan, Leader models had a few unique features. For one, their standard back unit was larger than the Spartan's, but mounted only two thrusters; to compensate, they had a pair of wing-like binders containing an extra two thrusters attached to either side of the backpack. There was an extra thruster on the side of each shin, and the feet contained retractable blades at the toe end. The head, though mostly identical to the high-performance Type-S, mounted a large "horn" communications antenna for its commander-use radio system. The fixed weapon loadout was identical to the Spartan, and the Leader could mount any of the "grunt" model's optional armaments.

Grabbing the small handgrip below the cockpit hatch on the top torso below the head, Julius scurried up the hatch and dropped into the cockpit itself. Positioning himself in his seat, a tap of a button by his left elbow brought the cockpit systems online; tapping the button next to that closed the cockpit hatch, the hatch sliding back to lock against the base of the mobile suit's neck.

A quick glance confirmed everything was as it should be: an array of six large monitors provided a 240-degree view of the hangar around him, excluding only the areas behind him, and monitors on the inside of the cockpit hatch provided a view directly above the mobile suit. At the point where the front and upper screens joined was a small console bar; three smaller screens were set into the console, the side ones for communications, the central one to provide a rear view. In front and to his sides were various consoles, between them containing the thirty-two buttons and switches necessary for operation of the machine and sub-displays for necessary information, the largest being the heads-down display, or HDD, on the front panel. A keyboard could be raised from an alcove on the left side of the cockpit for OS modification and sending of text messages, if necessary.

Manoeuvring was controlled by eight devices; a pair of joysticks positioned arm's reach away on the side panels, acceleration and thruster controls that ran alongside his arms running upto the base of the sticks, and a quartet of foot pedals whose functions were divided between leg movement and thruster output. Though the system appeared extremely complicated – and it was, despite the incredibly powerful automation computers – a trained Marine could handle such a machine with practiced ease gained from hundreds of hours' worth of SCAT Marine Corps Academy simulator training and frequent practice runs as part of their day-to-day duties. The best pilots were so adept at manipulating a mobile suit that they barely noticed the complexity involved.

As the cockpit systems ran through their startup sequence, the OS loading screen appeared on the HDD:

_**SCAT-SMSDF Marine Corps**_

**_Mobile Suit Operating System_**

_**Dauntless Series**_

**_Neural Network Version 1.42.17 mod. DL.002/B_**

_**Pilot Data ID – 1986/JVS/2612**_

The loading screen was quickly replaced by the system screen, displaying damage conditions, equipment status, and so forth; all of the data could be called up from this or any other of the machine's touch-screen displays onto the main monitor, for ease of use. As requested, Julius pressed the release key for the keyboard and began running a full system analysis, to make sure that everything was in order. Sure enough, Donna's team had done an excellent job, and the Dauntless Leader was fully combat ready.

Reaching for a panel on his left side, the pilot switched his mobile suit's communications system to the mechanics' frequency and reported in.

"Dauntless Leader checks out. I owe you guys a beer when we get back." Julius reported, affably.

On the hangar deck, just to the left of centre on his monitor, he could see Donna look up at his mobile suit and give him a thumb's up. She may have been smiling, too; he couldn't tell through the faceplate of her helmet, and it seemed a waste of time to switch on the object zoom function of the monitor, as she had turned around by the time he'd of even reached for the sub-display.

A glance around confirmed that the rest of his squad were in the hangar, standing in front of their mobile suits, or on, or near their mobile suits. Cyril Cheshire in front of 02, Barry Rowse in front of 03, Anna Pilkington on 04's left shoulder, Becks Klein by 05's foot, Philippe Mia near 06, Laurence Stuart on 07's head – for some reason, and Valentina Yalchin boarding 08.

Though none came from the same colony, the Academy and their time together at Blenheim had created a close bond between all of them. All for one and one for all was most definitely a theme throughout the Marines, and the military as a whole. The lack of any absolute rank structure helped, too; in the Marines, one could be a Mechanic, a Pilot, a Commander, or an Officer. The first three purely described job function – though a Commander was technically slightly higher than Pilots and mechanics – and the Officers were the equivelant to the Armada's admiralty, the top people who made the big decisions.

Julius had to wonder if the Officers ever longed to be Dauntless pilots.

Everything was good to go, it seemed. Mobile suits were ready, mechanics prepared for anything, and the ship seemed to be battle-worthy, too. The Union would never know what hit it, and even if they did they'd have no way to outmatch a colonial army like this.

"Okay, everyone, good work! Once you're done, go get some rest, it's going to be a long day tomorrow."

**Cosmofighter Squadron Commander's Quarters, Lunar Union Navy Battleship _Intrepid_; Between Lagrange Point Four and Luna.**

**June 12, SCE 144. 2120 LST.**

Lauser was exhausted. Strong as he appeared in front of his team, it was extremely draining to be so short-tempered. Collapsing – very slowly in zero gravity – onto the bed, the cosmofighter pilot thought over the day's events. His team once again proved adept in combat training, holding their own against a force three times larger and of superior ability. Even in a Typhoon versus Typhoon encounter, the Elephantine Team would be able to come out on top. If only the rest of the imbeciles in the Cosmofighter Corps were so capable, they'd have no problems.

A chime alerted him to the fact that someone was at the door. After a quick call of "It's open" the hatch slid open to reveal Lucy Boyd, smartly dressed in the green uniform of a Union Force officer. Lauser suddenly felt extremely shabby with his unfastened and creased jacket. The newly-arrived Boyd stepped into the room, standing to attention as the door closed.

"At ease, Ensign. What brings you here?" he enquired, tired mind picking up on just how attractive the red-haired woman was.

"Nothing special, sir. The ship's chief mechanic reports that our fighters are prepared and ready for combat. He also said there's a rumour going round that Churchill has seen a full-scale revolution and has its own secret army." She replied, her soft voice reflecting the boredom in her blue eyes.

"That would be… interesting, to say the least. I wonder if this so-called 'secret army' has weapons to match ours…"

The young ensign nodded. "That would certainly make this assignment less of a bore."

Realising what she had said, Boyd put a hand to her mouth, wide-eyed. Lauser simply laughed, as he stood himself up.

"Don't worry, Lucy. I'm glad I'm not the only one who finds this mission a complete waste of this team's time. I'm missing a performance of _Macbeth_ for this joke sortie."

"Sir, I hadn't realised you liked Shakespeare! You do realise it's bad luck to say the name of… The Scottish Play… don't you?"

"Hah, superstitious nonsense! My luck isn't going to be affected by the name of an ancient work, as superb as it is."

"Not this version, sir. As well reviewed as the play was in _The Times_, Mark Booth doesn't play the lead role at all well." She shook her head, recalling the night she'd seen the play, and how Macbeth didn't seem at all… well, like Macbeth.

"How disappointing. In that case Churchill Prefecture damn well better have an army, so at least something interesting happens."

They both laughed at that.

"Well, if there's nothing else sir, I need some rest before we launch tomorrow."

Lauser realised he hadn't said anything yet. "Oh! That's all Ensign, yes. Goodnight, then!"

"Goodnight Commander. See you bright and early tomorrow!"

As she turned to leave, Lucy winked at Lauser, before walking through the reopened door and back to the pilots' quarters she shared with the other female member of the team, Keelie Michaels. The team commander simply stood, blinking a few times. It seemed like some bizarre daydream, or a scene from a tacky romance movie like _This Love_. Still, he secretly loved tacky romance movies, so it wasn't bad at all…

Tomorrow they would ride to battle. But for tonight, rest…

**Phase-01 End**


	2. Phase 02

**Phase-02: All In The Valley Of Death Rode The Six Hundred…**

**Bridge, Lunar Union Navy Battleship _Intrepid_, Two Thousand Kilometres From Resource Asteroid L4-A03.**

**June 13, SCE 144. 0950 Hours LST.**

Admiral Milberger was furious. The level of interference around the resource asteroid was so intense that the only way to confirm that their own fleet's flanks even existed was by visual confirmation or infra-red sensors. Getting a signal to them was like trying to swim through treacle, the _Intrepid_'s radar operator had quipped, in light of the intense jamming. Something was going on, something that would no doubt piss him off when it happened.

"Send the battleship _Interceptor_ ahead with the escorts _Bradford_ and _Barnsley_. I want to know exactly what's going on out there." Ordered the admiral. He looked ready to punch through a titanium bulkhead or three.

With great difficulty, the communications officer sent out the message. To starboard of the _Intrepid_, a trio of ships moved out toward the huge rock in front of the fleet. They bore a vague resemblance to the old-fashioned kind of ship that sailed across Earth's oceans, the design kept as a concession to humanity's continued lack of adaptation to space.

The two long, sleek warships sailed forward, quickly closing the gap between the main fleet and the rock ahead of them. The captain of the _Interceptor_ resented the duty; if there was nothing there, he'd have to find out why there was so much ECM – electronic countermeasures – in the region, and if there _was_ something, he'd be a sitting duck. Wisely, he deployed the dozen cosmofighters from his ship, signalling the escorts to send out the three carried on each ship.

Milberger watched events unfold impatiently, gripping the arms of his plush chair as the ships and their fighters moved around the asteroid to face whatever was on the other side.

As the trio moved past the asteroid, what little radio communication was available was blocked out entirely. For a few minutes, it seemed nothing was happening. Nobody on the _Intrepid_'s bridge said a word, for fear of shattering the eerie calm that had overcome those watching events.

Someone finally broke the silence, the young man at the radar station: "Sirs, we have something on visual, still no radar confirmation."

Milberger pounced on it. "Zoom in, put it on the main screen."

With a few keystrokes, the radar operator did just that. On the inside of the transparent aluminium bridge glass there was a thin computer monitor layer; on this, a red box formed roughly in the centre, expanding to show the object that had attracted their attention.

It was the _Interceptor_. Most of the _Interceptor_ at least. The sharp prow of the ship was missing, as was the bridge tower near the stern. It had been mauled, its carcass pushed back towards the main fleet. But by whom, and why?

The admiral threw caution to the wind. "All ships advance! We're going to tear apart whoever destroyed that ship!"

"No need sir, the enemy is coming to us!" exclaimed the helmsman, who had noticed the thruster flares of a fleet heading their way.

"Seven ships heading our way! One appears to be of battleship size, the rest of destroyer size!"

"Launch all cosmofighters now! Rip them to shreds!" yelled the _Intrepid_'s captain.

On the cosmofighter deck, all twelve members of the Elephantine Team were assembled, wearing their trademark red and black pilot suits, ready to jump into their fighters on a moment's notice; Lauser hated keeping them cooped up in cockpits longer than necessary, it seemed pointless. Behind the visor of his helmet, Lauser looked impatient, until the order to launch came through.

"Let's go! Get to your fighters now!" he exclaimed, as he did just that. Standing at the front centre of the hangar, six fighters lined up either side of him in their bays, launching arms above the front two, to "push" them out of hatches on either side of the ship.

The Typhoon's design owed a lot to ancient aerospace fighters, as was a trend with cosmofighters. A single tailfin – for apogee motors rather than air control – and a broad delta wing made the Typhoon stand out in a battlefield. Its armament of two anti-armour cannons, two smaller multi-barrel cannons, and a dozen missiles of various sizes would give it a superb combat capacity.

All twelve pilots scurried up the ladders into their cockpits. As soon as they were in the canopies slid forward to close, completely sealing the pilots off from the outside world; modern cosmofighters used a panoramic virtual-reality monitor to provide a superb view around and above the craft, rather than the transparent canopy of old-style aircraft.

"_Once you're in space, form up ahead of this ship, below the line of its guns. We'll proceed to launch our attack after the first wave barrage."_ A simple order, one the Elephantine Team had practiced to death. "Intrepid_, please transmit the order to all teams._"

"_Roger that, Elephantine Zero-One."_

"_Thank you, control. Elephantine Team, launch!"_

**Hangar Deck, SCAT Armada Battleship _Ibuki_; Advancing From Rendezvous Point Alpha, Near Resource Asteroid L4-A03.**

**June 13, SCE 144. 1025 Hours LST.**

"That was a bit much…" commented Julius, watching the destruction of the Union advance force on his monitor via the hangar umbilical cable's communications links. The carnage had been caused by the Brandon Squadron, who had not only crushed the cruisers and butchered the battleship, but physically pushed the ruined hulk of the lead ship back towards its fleet.

"_They'll know not to mess with us now but they will anyway, so now the real party can get started and we can kick Moon arses!"_ exclaimed the ever-excitable Becks Klein. Her enthusiastic face was framed by shoulder-length blonde hair, genuine desire to go into battle in her green eyes. This was typical of her in a battle situation, an extension of her usual, somewhat hyperactive personality outside of combat.

Julius sighed. _Sometimes, sanity isn't as overrated as I say it is…_

"_Van Steenvoort Squadron, we are entering combat. Following first-wave missile and plasma barrage, launch mobile suit forces!"_ ordered a female operator on the _Ibuki_'s bridge. Her voice was… calming, despite the severity of the situation.

"Roger that, control. Squadron ready to launch," He replied, before switching to the squad channel. "Okay squad, put your match faces on, we're about to go into battle. I want no screw-ups, you hear me? All units report in."

"_Zero-two, roger that."_

"_Zero-three, yes sir!"_

"_Zero-four, confirmed."_

"_Zero-five; gotcha, commander!"_

"_Zero-six, will do!"_

"_Zero-seven: sir, yes sir!"_

"_Zero-eight, order confirmed."_

That was it. Squadron ready, pilots prepared… battle joined. And soon, mobile suits would head into open battle for the first time.

_Ibuki_ opened its two hangar deck hatches, preparing its linear catapults to deploy four mobile suits each. The_ Ibuki_ class of battleship, of which _Ibuki_ herself was the first – and at present only – were shaped roughly like the points of a trident or a fork; the widest central point had the two catapults on either side, to fire mobile suits out between the points of the triple hull. The bridge was placed at the aft of this central point, with the main engines and weapons in the outer points; each outer point mounted a dual-barrel plasma cannon on the upper and lower sides, three missile launchers, and the majority of the ship's dual-barrel CIWS lasers; the remaining CIWS lasers were mounted on the central point, as were two single-barrel plasma cannons, again on the upper and lower sides.

The mighty ship, almost three hundred and seventy metres long, was leading the fleet, six smaller _Ocean_ destroyers surrounding it, with their quartet of mobile suits and reduced plasma armaments. _Ocean_ class ships mounted eight missile launchers, however, and the same quantity of CIWS lasers.

Inside the hangar, the squadron prepared to launch. Julius and Cyril stood at the beginning of the launch tracks; the catapults were essentially railguns, firing out mobile suits at high speeds using a quartet of powerful electromagnetic strips which telescoped out from all four sides of the hatch. Each catapult had a display screen on the outer wall; the upper half listed the mobile suit and pilot, whilst the lower half comprised four boxes: a row of three could light up as "CLEAR" or "STOP", and the final one, taking up the whole lower quarter, would indicate "LAUNCH" if it was all-clear, or "ABORT" if any of the three showed a stop warning. The upper half currently read:

**SMAF-CMS03DL Dauntless Leader**

**Julius Van Steenvoort**

"_Commander Van Steenvoort, Cyril Cheshire; prepare for launch!"_ exclaimed the controller.

"Roger that!" exclaimed Van Steenvoort, no nerves evident in his voice, "Julius Van Steenvoort, Dauntless Leader… launch!"

"_Confirmed! Cyril Cheshire, Dauntless Spartan, let's go!"_ cried Cyril, sounding little more excited than calling for a taxi.

Julius braced himself for launch.

_CLEAR._

Cyril took a breath.

_CLEAR._

Julius gazed out at space, where he knew the Union awaited.

_CLEAR._

Cyril tensed.

_LAUNCH!_

Moments later, the two mobile suits shot out as gray blurs from the _Ibuki_, hurtling a kilometre away from their mothership in seconds. They were quickly joined by two more, and two more, and finally two more. The complete team of a Dauntless Leader, three Dauntless Spartan Type-As, and four Dauntless Spartan Type-Bs, all ready to go, advancing in two waves, Julius' team leading, Cyril's close behind.

Julius took a deep breath, trying to calm his rising nerves, wondering how everyone else in the squadron felt; he was curious about the other squadron commanders, too, if they felt the nerves he felt.

"My team, ready to engage cosmofighters; Cyril's team, hit the ships! Report in with team leaders; Cyril, you're clear to go once your team is ready!"

A round of confirmations later, the Van Steenvoort Team joined the battle.

**Space Battle Zone, Near Resource Asteroid L4-A03.**

**June 13, SCE 144. 1040 Hours LST.**

"_All units stay together. Once you detect the enemy, fire at them. If they have cosmofighters, stick with your wingman during the dogfight as far as possible."_ Lauser's orders were simple, but surely effective.

The Elephantine team, flying in a delta formation, cruised towards their opponents. The electronic jamming was so thick as they got closer to the enemy that radar was becoming useless; the scan lines on the screen were static, the only objects on the screen those nearby. Lauser wondered if any of his weapons – predominantly Space Interceptor Missiles – would be of any use; the SIM-26 medium-range and SIM-34 long-range missiles were radar-lock weapons, and given the uselessness of his radar, the missiles would surely follow suit. Only the SIM-7 short-range missile, with its infra-red targeting system, might be of use.

The quartet of "ship busters" in his team would have a slightly easier task. Their weapons – Space Assault Torpedo 12s – were unguided, simply requiring "point and fire" aiming; however, their defence against fighters was a battery of SIM-9 short-range missiles, and those were radar guided. Given the effectiveness of their SIM and SAT weapons, few Union Force pilots were truly adept at using their armour-blaster cannons or their multi-barrel guns. The two fixed weapons, of 115mm and 36mm calibres respectively on Typhoons, weren't too difficult to use, but required a decent pilot to bring out their full effectiveness. Lauser doubted many could make best use of them.

As they swept forward, it was Lucy Boyd who first detected the enemy craft. Her transmission was garbled by the interference, but it was clear enough:

"…_humanoid… massive rifles! What… orders… ?"_

Lauser saw them too, the grainy zoomed images on his forward display definitely shaped like humans. Massive humans, with massive weapons. The shape of their gray bodies managed an eerily beautiful compromise between rounded organic and mechanical angular shapes, but the single "eye" in their heads reminded Lauser of the mythical Cyclopes, beasts feared for their power.

"_All units, _shoot them down_!"_ he exclaimed.

The mobile suits of the Van Steenvoort Squadron encountered the Elephantine Team's cosmofighters at 1046 Lunar Standard Time.

With a nod – literally – from Julius' machine, Cyril's team of Type-B units raced ahead, towards the Union Force's ships. To either side of the "Cheshire Cat" quartet, many more Dauntless Spartans did the same, racing forward on almost two hundred thousand kilograms of nuclear-powered thrust, all with similar targets; battleships, escort cruisers, light cruisers. Whatever they could destroy would be destroyed. Cyril found himself appalled but also amused by the Union's tactics; virtually no cosmofighters were left defending the fleet.

A few older model Hurricanes shot out towards Cyril's group. In a hail of fire from Cyril's heavy 100mm machinegun the lead fighter erupted in flames, scattering debris across its comrades. Mia, Stuart and Yalchin chimed in with their machineguns, blasting at the fighters between them and the enemy ships.

Valentina Yalchin found herself with a fighter straight ahead; a pair of missiles reached across space towards her mobile suit. Arms at her sides, she opened fire with the CIWS guns on the collar of her machine, the volley making quick work of the missiles. A burst from the thrusters in her shins brought the Spartan above the fighter, surprising its pilot. Valentina used the pilot's slow reaction time to keep her machine facing the fighter, whilst raising her own machinegun. Just before the fighter pilot had chance to squeeze the trigger to launch a heavy missile into the giant human machine, a massive shell tore through his cockpit, killing him instantly.

Philippe Mia was duelling with a Hurricane he found particularly irritating. Several decoys from the launchers in his Dauntless' dual head fins had already been used to distract the missiles from the little swept-wing fighter, and it was taking some fancy manoeuvring to dodge random blasts of heavy armour-blaster shells. As wasteful as it was, Philippe found himself forced to fire one of the two rounds of ammunition from the triple-barrel missile launcher on his right shin.

The pilot of the Hurricane was good, evading two missiles. However, the third missile struck the cosmofighter's wing, knocking it of course and dazing its pilot. The colonial Marine quickly took advantage of this. As the cosmofighter hurtled towards his machine, a quick thruster burst positioned him "above" the fighter, using the magnets in the mobile suit's feet to stand atop the craft. Raising its left leg, closer to the fighter's nose, Mia drove the foot into the cosmofighter's cockpit, brutally ending the pilot's life, before disengaging the magnets and rushing off towards the Union fleet.

"Bloody fighter… I better not miss out on a battleship because of you!" he exclaimed, trying to squeeze out as much thrust from his machine as possible.

"_I'll share one if you like, Phil, I'm not greedy!"_ chimed in Laurence Stuart. He hadn't had to face any of the cosmofighters, so it only seemed fair.

"Whoever gets there first gets credit, Laurence!"

"_You're on!"_

The two blasted forward with their comrades. It looked as if the contingent from Van Steenvoort's force would get their first, the Richmond Squadron – all four in Type-Bs – a distant second, having launched later from the destroyer _Pacific_. Technically, the Van Steenvoort Squadron should have been two separate forces, one led by Van Steenvoort, the other by Cheshire, but it worked out easier to combine them.

Meanwhile, the main battle between mobile suits and cosmofighters was kicking off, and going very badly for the cosmofighters…

Anna Pilkington was frustrated.

She had narrowly avoided being blasted by a Typhoon, a quick automatic reaction by her shoulder shields the only thing saving her cockpit. The heavy armour-blaster rounds from a Typhoon, powerful as they were intended to be, had nothing on the kinetic-deflector circuitry in the shields, which could – and had – altered the path of the shells to go _around_ the Dauntless.

It still bothered her to have to rely on fancy tricks, though. Turning her mobile suit's waist, Anna fired a quick burst from her assault rifle, spraying 75mm shells toward the offending cosmofighter, whose attack run had pushed it past the mobile suit, making a beeline for a nearby cruiser. Her bullets failed to connect, but did have one positive aspect.

The fighter, in its evasion, moved right into the path of the destroyer _Atlantic_'s upper plasma cannon, just as it was commencing a barrage against the Union fleet. Pilot and machine were turned to scattered atoms in the blink of an eye, even as the purple beam scorched across the hull of a light cruiser.

In the light of the explosion, Anna moved on to the next fighter. This one fired a pair of SIM-7 missiles at her Dauntless. Depressing one of the triggers on her left joystick, Pilkington fired decoys from the fins on the sides of her mobile suit's head. The infra-red missiles quickly broke their lock to go for the more intense heat source, now the multipurpose decoys racing away from the mobile suit; with their superb speed and mobility, the missiles quickly caught the decoys, destroying themselves and the false targets in a burst of blue light.

Meanwhile, the offending cosmofighter soon found itself using its own decoys, as Anna fired a full volley from the pair of 15-barrel micromissile launchers on her mobile suit's shields. The unguided rockets all missed their mark, but drove the fighter into the line of her 75mm rifle, which this time scored fatal hits in the cosmofighter's engines; the red and black Elephantine Team fighter was quickly consumed in a nuclear fireball.

Turning her mobile suit's head, she spotted Barry having fun with a fighter, before returning to the battle.

Barry was having less fun than it seemed. The fighter he was engaging had a surprisingly good pilot, whose abilities were almost neutralising the inherent inferiority of the cosmofighter. As a man trained on the humanoid machines, it bothered him that a _fly_ could be so difficult to swat. Still, its pilot clearly lacked confidence in his own sniping abilities; all Rowse had dealt with so far was missiles and a few 36mm volleys, no shots from the armour-blaster cannons.

As the fighter accelerated straight towards him, Barry had an idea. As the fighter came in for a killer attack, this time with the armour-blasters, he used his suit's apogee motors to rotate ninety degrees backwards; to the fighter, it would appear he had gone from standing to laying down. As he reoriented himself upside-down relative to his original orientation, Barry unhooked the 230mm bazooka from his machine's rear skirt, firing a rocket right into the centre of the fighter as it attempted to loop around for another missile attack. The explosion was quite beautiful, Rowse thought.

Garth Lauser was furious.

Another explosion lit up his virtual-display monitors; a small caption box indicated another of his team shot down. _"SHAW!"_ he exclaimed, as he realised who had been killed. They had already lost Thomas and Carroll, now Shaw too! "These humanoid machines are _monsters!_"

Finally, Lauser spotted what appeared to be the unit leader. Its design wasn't too much different, but a large "horn" protruded from the head, and the shoulders were painted differently. _No force can fight without its head!_ Charging in, Lauser launched a pair of SIM-34 heavy missiles; though they were meant for long-range engagements, their radar guidance had no chance in this battlefield, so they were put to best use as close as possible. Besides which, he had already observed direct body hits by SIM-9s leave barely a scratch on a humanoid's body, though it did seem to bleed…

The missiles streaking toward his newfound opponent were picked off before they were even halfway there, but not by the horned leader. It was another humanoid, marked as "05", ripping the missiles out of space with its rifle. An assault rifle as big an armour-blaster, whose rate of fire was positively glacial in comparison. Missile-killing "05" didn't hang around, though, instead heading for Dale and Evans' units. Lauser went back to the leader, hoping – praying, even – the horn didn't indicate a far superior fighting power.

With superb aim, Lauser unleashed his armour-blasters, letting off three shots from each cannon as he closed the gap on the enemy. Powerful or not, this humanoid surely couldn't withstand _six_ armour-blaster rounds.

It didn't withstand them. Instead, the humanoid's shields deflected the heavy rounds past its body, leaving it unscathed. Furious, Lauser squeezed and held the trigger for his 36mm cannons, aiming to take the humanoid's head. Sadly, its superb agility allowed it to keep strafing out of the firing line, no matter how many times he fired. In seconds, Lauser found he had emptied over four hundred bullets from the dual cannons, yet left not a pockmark on his enemy. His enemy hadn't yet fired.

"What's going on! I'm wasting ammunition, and this… _thing_ is superbly conserving its own! I've got to kill it, for my own pride!"

Letting out a furious battle cry, he charged again.

Julius found himself in what was proving to be a harder-than-expected battle. Even though the enemy was wasting ammunition trying to hurt a Dauntless with the cannons it had, the marksmanship it displayed was impressive. Unfortunately for this enemy, kinetic-deflectors would continue making all the marksmanship in space entirely irrelevant.

With the violet-hued Earth below his mobile suit's feet, Julius began his counterattack.

The fighter, not expecting this, came to a sudden stop. Van Steenvoort recognised it as having the dagger insignia of a commander on its nose. "Commander versus commander, eh?" he mused. It was a curious observation. He recalled the fact it was considered honourable for noble leaders in ancient times to be executed with swords, rather than the axe given to most. With this in mind, he latched his rifle onto the Dauntless' rear skirt, drawing the hyper-vibration sword from its sheath on his left hip armour, intending to let its moving blade do the job.

Swordplay in a mobile suit was easily learned but difficult to master; Julius Van Steenvoort was a master with the sword. As he approached the enemy, now attempting to evade, Julius easily matched its almost-random changes of direction. Sword in hand, he took a swing, severing the fighter's right wing.

"Oh, damn. Missed him." Julius decided to let the fighter live, as it had survived his fatal blow. He had seven kills already, and wasn't greedy. Until, that was, another cosmofighter, this one in painted a salmon red, moved in to intercept him at incredible speed, like a red comet. Easily evading its cannon attacks, Julius positioned himself below the fighter as he drew a combat knife from his suit's left knee armour sheath, and drove the knife into the bottom of the cockpit. _No more "red comet"_.

Becks was on her fourth or fifth kill; she'd lost track, but the combat computer would have recorded it. Number five – or six – was to be a blue-winged Mustang. Klein's rifle was stored on her suit's rear skirt armour. Rather than employ it in combat, she was putting her own superb marksmanship to good use, carrying a pair of 140mm pistols instead. Fighter number five – or six – attempted to fire missiles then break away, but found its cockpit reduced to slag by two perfectly-placed shots from gigantic pistols. It had, however, fired a medium missile.

Becks, still dazzled by the fighter's death, didn't notice the incoming missile until it was too late. A SIM-26 medium missile caught her machine just below its cockpit, exploding with considerable force. A fighter would be dead and gone.

Not a Dauntless, though.

Even as its outer titanium armour was melted, the liquid armour gel beneath the point of impact went into action, instantly solidifying in the "wound". A small trickle, however, had released before the freeze went into effect, and dribbled onto the armour. To an observer, it would appear the gigantic robot was bleeding metallic blue blood…

Becks dove right back into the fight.

"Okay, people, make chaos amongst them!" exclaimed Cyril Cheshire to his team.

And chaos they made.

Cyril began things, placing a rocket from his gigantic bazooka right through the bridge of the battleship _Murdock_ with glee. One rocket down, two to go. With his free left hand, Cyril grabbed the hyper-vibration tomahawk from inside his right shoulder shield, and moved on. Dancing through fire from a nearby cruiser – the C171 _Ebor_ according to its hull – Cyril continued to make his merry way through, choosing to cut into its bridge tower, vertically chopping the bridge in two.

Two ships down, and two rockets left. Game on.

Philippe got his battleship. His giant bazooka ripped through the nuclear engines of the battleship _Oveur_, consuming the ship in a spectacular fireball. Philippe found himself breathing heavily as the realisation of his actions hit.

"All those people… all dead…" he muttered in the cockpit. "They were Lunar soldiers though! They deserved it!"

Satisfied with this conclusion, he moved on.

Nearby, Valentina was blasting away at a cruiser. Her machinegun was gouging holes in the ship's hull, picking apart its cannons and anti-air turrets. All in all, it was an impressive show display of accuracy rather than brute force, quite representative of what mobile suits were about compared to the cosmofighters they evolved from.

Eventually, the thrill of precision lost its appeal. Her mobile suit positioned at the portside of the cruiser's bridge, Valentina put a bullet through its window panels, leaving an identical hole on the starboard side. The bridge crew were spaced in moments, the precaution of wearing normal suits having not seemed necessary as the ship had entered combat.

Laurence also made his mark on the Union fleet. An escort cruiser filled his vision; he could see every detail on its hull, the seams in its armour plates like a network of miniature trenches. As the rockets unloaded into its engines, the trenches expanded, widened, until the ship's hull burst open, torn apart by the power of the atom, as yet unmatched by humankind.

In the glow of the explosion, Laurence barely noticed the other cruiser's main cannon. As it was, he pushed "up" just in time to keep himself alive, but the Dauntless' legs were blasted clear off; particles on the beam's periphery interacted with energy lines within the severed legs, causing a set of explosions which ripped through the machine's lower torso. This was a fatal blow, even for a Dauntless.

Laurence was aware of how close he was to death, of course. In one last act of defiance against the Union, he pushed his thrusters to the full, on a collision course for his assailant's bridge. Even with anti-air shells clawing at his suit's armour Laurence Stuart pressed on, metre by metre. As metal hit metal, the fragile mobile suit finally gave in to its fate, its body cracking open like an eggshell, albeit an eggshell containing a nuclear bomb. The cruiser had no chance, its bridge tower vaporising almost instantly, the hull battered by the explosion and fragments of mobile suit.

In another part of space, Andy Richmond and his squadron were encountering far fiercer resistance. One Dauntless had already retreated back to their mothership with a severed right leg, another had taken a hit that disabled the right elbow, and all were running low on propellant and ammunition. Adding to their problems, a formation of cosmofighters had broken off from the main battle and were setting their sights on the Dauntless' assaulting their main fleet. Swallowing his pride, Richmond launched a blue flare from his machine's head launchers; blue flares meant _HELP_.

The first person to see the flares, Mary Brandon of the Brandon Squadron, found herself unable to do anything; her and the other three machines of her unit had become engaged in battle with a team of pure white cosmofighters, whose pilots were proving to be almost predatory, despite their horrifyingly inferior hardware. An encoded laser-burst transmission, however, passed the message on to another squadron leader.

Julius Van Steenvoort received the text message via laser-transmission just after receiving word from Cyril that his team – _sans_ one member – were on their way back to ship for resupply. With the voice-transcription system in his cockpit, Julius sent text messages ordering the Type-B team to reequip as Type-As and maintain fleet guard, before bringing his team into formation to support the Richmond Squadron.

They were running on just under half-full propellant, were low on ammunition, and with more than a few battle scars across their fresh paint. But the Van Steenvoort Squadron wouldn't back down. Not when they were still in the fight. Especially not when comrades' lives were at stake.

Besides which, Andy owed Julius a drink from the last multi-squadron drinking night.

"Alright, let's go! I hate unpaid debts!"

White-hot thruster trails in their wake, Julius' team sallied forth.

As Lauser docked his damaged fighter, he glanced around, looking to see who else had come back. Lucy was standing next to her own craft, marvelling at how it had survived. There was barely anything left of it, and violent gashes attested to how close what was left had come to being scattered across space.

More important, Lucy Boyd was definitely alive.

_Why do I care so much? She's a member of my squadron, true, but still…_

Garth Lauser, whilst not unattractive, wasn't much of a relationship man, his strictly business attitude and overbearing perfectionism being rather off-putting to most of the men and women who might consider him a worthy partner. As such, he was somewhat naïve when it came to attraction, and even his own reactions to those he found attractive.

As such, it was quite surprising to all around when the Lieutenant Commander kissed Lucy so passionately.

On the bridge of the _Intrepid_, Admiral Milberger raged. His fleet was being torn to pieces by those giant toy robots, and it seemed the combined might of his forces could do nothing to stop them.

The admiral was, it had to be said, pretty pissed off.

"Do we have any other ships?" he demanded of the bridge crew.

"No sir! All other ships are in battle, we can't pull them out."

"Dammit all! Well, we have a few fighters aboard… eject a few Santa nuclear missiles behind us as mines, this ship will retreat back to Morpheus!"

The ship's captain, a coward in the face of the enemy's power, was quick to agree. "Turn this ship! Drop six Santa torpedoes, rig them to detonate if any enemies pursue us. We are retreating from this combat zone!"

Tail firmly between legs, the flagship of the Hallam Fleet retreated.

"Becks, hold the line dammit!" exclaimed Julius. His team's most hyperactive member was really testing the nigh-infinite patience of her commander, breaking formation at inopportune moments to blast away at any cosmofighters that came nearby.

There was a reason to hold formation when shepherding the remainder of the Richmond Squadron back, that being not getting anyone else killed. Julius was aware of four Dauntless losses in the battle so far, a team's worth of pilots downed; a terrible waste. His own actions were nothing to be proud of, abandoning his shoot-to-disable tactics for shoot-to-kill. Necessary as it was, it left a bad taste in the commander's mouth, he felt sick.

"_I can finish them_!" replied Becks, eager to dive back into battle.

Good to her word, Klein threw her mobile suit back into combat, homing in on the retreating enemy flagship. As she approached, a fighter swooped towards her from behind, aiming for a deadly blow to the Spartan's backpack.

Ever resourceful, Becks shifted the giant robot to one side, out of the firing line, before delivering a fearsome punch to its underbelly. The fighter, out of control, spun right into one of the SANT-A – or "Santa" – nuclear torpedoes in the _Intrepid_'s hastily deployed minefield.

Despite the fact that her monitor practically shut down to reduce the intensity, Becks still had to put a hand in front of her helmet's visor _and_ close her eyes to avoid the glare.

"A nuclear weapon…"

The explosion lit up the battlefield, leaving a few combatants momentarily blinded as their exposure filters failed to react quickly enough. Several pilots sat awestruck at the sight of the nuclear explosion seemingly in the middle of nowhere; SANT-A torpedoes packed a massive punch, and seeing one used as a mine – or seeing one at all – was quite a sight.

Twin flares launched from the _Ibuki_, bright red. The entire Marine force knew exactly what it meant: _Follow the flares, we're about to fire the big guns_. Taking potshots at the cosmofighters foolish enough to pursue, the surviving Dauntless force threw themselves to the relative "above" and "below" of the fleet, in preparation for the onslaught.

Becks Klein, who had been ahead of the main pockets of Dauntless troops, was the last to check in "below" the force, luckily avoiding a date with a Starburst missile…

On the bridge of the_ Ibuki_, Demry was raging. Again.

"Nuclear weapons! My god, those _bastards_!" one deep breath later, he continued, calmer, "Communications, fire red flares from dorsal and ventral launchers on my mark. Signal the fleet with our attack orders. Weapons, prepare a three-wave Starburst missile attack, followed by plasma attack, thirty seconds from the mark."

"Sir! Transmitting orders to the fleet. Receipt bursts confirmed from all ships."

"Weapon solutions ready, all missile banks and cannons ready."

"Okay then. Mark."

A thirty second countdown began on the large display above the main bridge windows, and on a weapons monitor in front of Olivia Fisher, seconds rushing away as allied mobile suits fled the firing line. A few small explosions, highlighted by yellow boxes on the main display's monitor layer, lit up the battlefield, presumably unlucky Lunar fighters giving chase to the Marines.

_Three…_

All eyes on the forward display.

_Two…_

All mouths take a breath.

_One…_

All muscles tense.

_Zero!_

The deck vibrated as missiles tore out of the ship's launchers, the rest of the fleet chiming in moments later. The weapons were homing in on the last confirmed positions of the Union vessels, tagged with red squares on the _Ibuki_'s displays, the best that could be done with the titanic amount of electronic interference in the battle zone.

Another wave of missiles shot out moments later. A few heartbeats later the third wave streaked out to meet the enemy, white plumes of thruster exhaust trailing behind them. If they didn't give away the positions of the Armada vessels, the plasma attack surely would.

Each SCAT ship had an assigned "zone" to attack in; they were to aim at as many ships in that "zone" as was possible. _Ibuki_ had tags for two Union warships in its own, and so Olivia divided the cannons evenly; two dual cannons and a single cannon each. Purple plasma fire streaked across space, through the afterglow of missile warheads which had released their deadly payloads. Though they could barely see it, almost every beam set forth by the Armada ships had struck an enemy ship, doing varying degrees of damage.

With the barrage over, the Marine teams whose machines had been resupplied moved out to finish the job. The teams who hadn't had their fuel or ammo replenished returned to their motherships, their battles over.

The carnage was incredible. Fuelled by the same fury as _Ibuki_ Captain Demry at the shameless use of nuclear weapons, a dozen Dauntless units carved their way through the remainder of the enemy fleet, mercilessly laying waste to their enemies. There wasn't much to do, the leftover enemies having been pretty well diced by the plasma attack. The few surviving ships were quickly pulled apart under an unrestrained hail of bullets and rockets, however, a testament to the Marines' rage.

With their opponents either dead or running for their lives, the SCAT fleet regrouped and returned home.

The sole Union ship headed for home, not sure what reception would await…

**Downtown Woodthorpe, Blenheim Colony, Churchill Prefecture, Lagrange Point Four.**

**June 15, SCE 144. 2045 Hours LST.**

While one end of the Blenheim Colony was a military facility, the other half contained the vibrant, lively town of Woodthorpe… at least according to the tourist guide.

According to SCAT personnel, it was home to a lot of good bars.

One of these, and a favourite of the Marines, was My Name's Jim, a small but cosy place in Downtown's trendy Hilton Point area. Amid the casually-dressed and deep in conversation mobile suit pilots were Julius and Donna, sitting at a table with two half-empty bottles of beer – and several other fully empty ones – chatting away as an old Andy Wallace ballad played in the background.

"I still say it shouldn't have happened…" muttered Alex, smiling slightly.

"Well, what did you expect?" Donna replied, sticking her tongue out to emphasise her point.

"True enough," the smile turned sheepish. "But I can't believe you managed to do that."

"You didn't think a sweet and innocent little girl like me could manage it?"

"I didn't think a 'sweet and innocent little girl' like you knew how to…"

"Are you kidding? I have two older brothers! Of course I down beers in one, you daft flyboy!"

"Fair point. Another round?"

Donna nodded happily. "Of course. After all, you're paying tonight!"

With a grin, Julius ambled over to the bar. Tonight was an enjoyable night. Yes, people had died. Yes, there'd be a war, for sure. But for tonight, if only for tonight, the world could wait.

**Garth Lauser's Apartment, Ostia, Arno City, Medici Federation, Luna.**

**June 17, SCE 144. 0730 Hours LST.**

A shrill alarm awoke Lieutenant Commander Lauser. It had been a long time since he had heard it regularly, having been at the Tiberius Barracks since his last leave several months ago. He enjoyed spending time in his apartment. Ostia wasn't the richest or most prestigious suburb of Arno City, but it was affordable for a cosmofighter pilot, and a few of his close friends had their own places nearby.

Grunting slightly, Garth turned, only to find Lucy Boyd next to him.

Memories came back… the horrific defeat at Churchill, the admiral's irrational fury at everything on the return trip, and the meeting with Admiral Peters at space fortress Morpheus at L1. Peters, one of the top officers in the Cosmofighter Corps, had personally informed Lauser he would have to report to a special inquest to be held by the Supreme Command in Arno. Rumour had it even Chairman Vecchio would be there.

The Union hated to lose, and any defeat that cost almost an entire fleet required someone to be punished. Garth dearly hoped it would be Admiral Milberger.

Still, glancing at Lucy's nude form, he quietly voiced his thoughts.

"If only things could stay like this… "

**Phase-02 End**


End file.
